Some Kinds of Motion
by Ampersand Ellipsis
Summary: Response to the Cullen Bull Pen Challenge for Nov. A series of drabbles about our favorite bodies in action. Hints of BB, HA


There were few things Zach liked better than being on the ice. He was never one for hockey, but did discover, at an early age, how much he loved skating. Maybe it was the frigid winters in Michigan, or the fact that his family could only relate to him when they were all on skates. But when he laced up at the Fort Dupont Ice Arena, with the chill air biting into his cheeks, the steel blades scraping tracks into the frozen water and the movement of graceful loops, spins and jumps driving all thoughts from his mind, nothing else mattered…he was no longer a geek, or a squint, there weren't two dissertations waiting to be finished or biceps that would never develop the way Booth's did or women that he would never understand….

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Nothing else mattered when Jack was on the water. Once he eased the Hobie Cat out of the marina and into the bay, the rest of the world disappeared in the whipping wind and the soothing sway of the waves beneath him. Harnessed trapeze-like, hanging from the mast and suspended out over the water, with his feet gripping the edge of the boat, his mind was clear. He was not a Hodgins, no bugs or slime were sitting waiting for him to discover their story and Angela wasn't rejecting him ….

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She stood very still, letting her calm, deep breathing warm her body, until she initiated movement…

Inhale… stand tall, arms out and up… Exhale… bend over… Inhale… lunge forward… Exhale… form a pyramid… Inhale… lay flat… Exhale… raise up like a cobra… Inhale… lay flat… Exhale… form a pyramid… Inhale… lunge forward… Exhale… bend over… Inhale… stand tall, arms out and up….

Because her body automatically knew what to do, Angela's mind was free to let go, to be completely clear. Nothing else mattered for this short time each morning—not the bodies she had seen in the past, or the skulls she'd be looking at that day, or the death scenarios she'd inevitably have to work into the Angelator or Jack's pleading eyes….

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Sure she was from the Bronx, but you never know what life is going to bring. Up until the age of 14, very few knew Cam was a dancer. She wasn't even so sure of it herself until one of her mother's friends mentioned a new high school opening up and suggested that Cam audition. Without any experience, but with a raw, pure talent for movement, Cam was accepted into LaGuardia and found herself traveling daily on the 1 across the Harlem River into Manhattan.

A broken ankle her senior year stopped any aspirations of dancing professionally, but she never stopped dancing for the sheer joy it brought her. It was satisfying to push herself physically, to see what she could do, to feel her muscles strain to comply with the demands of her imagination. When she was moving her body, with or without music, her mind cleared and nothing else mattered: the bodies she'd be looking at, the reports she'd be filling out, the way that Booth looked at Dr. Brennen….

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Temperance loved the feeling of contact. In fact, there were few things that irritated her more quickly than a strike that did not meet its intended target. If that happened (which it rarely did), her mind began to think and she would have to work twice as hard to regain the clarity she felt before.

Punch… block… kick… grapple… restrain… throw…

It was amazing how clear her mind could be when working on such an intricate and complicated series of movements. But this is what she liked best: here she wasn't thinking about her next chapter deadline or a bone fragment that didn't fit or what she thought she had seen behind Booth's eyes lately….

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Booth was not one to sit still. In fact, there were only two times when he sat still: when preparing to take out a target as a sniper and when he was on his knees in prayer. Otherwise he did whatever he could to stay in motion…. Push ups, sit ups, pull ups, running, boxing….anything that kept his body moving, working, pushing, and alive. Because when he was moving, his mind was clear. He was no longer a "special-agent-former-sniper," he wasn't anything but movement. He didn't have to think about the reports sitting on his desk, the latest perp trying to hide from him or what Bones was becoming to him….


End file.
